My Brother, the Reluctant Poet

My brother is serving faithfully in Afghanistan. He was so moved by a recent Fallen Comrade ceremony–a ceremony he has performed several times–he felt the need to write about it, and after reading it, and with his permission, I felt the need to print it.

A Sad Tradition
By Thomas David Vera II

The warriors moved slowly in the darkness
A melancholy mood was tangible in the air
slowly lining up, side by side
As far as the eye can see
Standing patiently, restlessly, still
The flashing lights slowly approach
The misty drizzle hits my face
It starts to collect like cold tears
A yell breaks the silence
The line of warriors snap to attention
Slowly arms raise to salute
My eyes drift to the eight somber faces
Accompanying the flag draped aluminum casket
Farewell my fallen comrade
The precession passes and salutes fall
The warriors disperse to go back to work
To go on living

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